


A Blessing and a Curse

by nyx_aeternum



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: (for a 10k anyway), A lot of feels, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Hospital scene, Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XV (2016), M/M, Needles, Slow Build, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 14:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18121925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyx_aeternum/pseuds/nyx_aeternum
Summary: "Marshal, if I may?""What is it, Ignis?""How did Lady Lunafreya escape the city?""...Did you ever meet Nyx Ulric, kid?"





	A Blessing and a Curse

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my attempt at retconning the fact that Ignis knows about Nyx Ulric in a timeline that would make absolutely no sense otherwise
> 
> This is my submission for March’s Nyx/Cor exchange, and you can find other works for the exchanges and more info about them under the collections page!
> 
> Special thank yous to Vex for letting me rant about my KG Nyx/Cor feels and Sarah for also letting me vent (especially about the lack of continuity in V2) and also for beta'ing. If any mistakes persist, they are my own fault.  
> [tumblr](http://nyxaeternum.tumblr.com)/[twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/nyx_aeternum)

* * *

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Cor knew, when Regis assigned the Crownsguard to “guard the civilians,” he knew that things were going to go sour. He knew when he watched Prince Noctis drive off in a car full of his friends that Regis was expecting the worst. He knew as soon as the Chancellor stepped foot in Insomnia that things were going sideways.

He’d known for a long time that things were coming to a head. It had been twenty long years since Noctis was born, nineteen long years since Prompto was brought to Insomnia, fifteen since the Prince was crowned Chosen and the whole world went to shit.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, but it did.

* * *

_day 1_

* * *

“What do you mean, I need to go on a mission with him!?” Cor had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. A feat worthy of recognition by the gods, really, considering the new Glaive recruit they’d saddled him with hadn’t stopped complaining since Titus had called him into his office.

“I mean exactly what I said,” Titus said in a long-suffering tone. Clearly the Glaive had always been this mouthy. “You’re going with the Marshal whether you want to or not.”

“I can do it without him,” the recruit said vehemently. “I don’t need some Insomnian prick bossing me around—“

“That’s enough!” Titus shouted, slamming his hand on the table and causing the recruit to jump visibly. Cor bit back a snicker as Titus glared the recruit down. “No matter where either of you are from, you’re a gods damned Lucian now, and that means you work together. You understand me!?” The young Glaive nodded, clearly unhappy. “Now you’re gonna go raid that base, and you’re gonna report back as soon as you return. Got it?”

“Yes, Captain,” the Glaive said, giving a salute before he turned and left the office.

Titus sighed and Cor allowed himself a quiet snicker. “You know, they say that parents will always get a child that’s twice as hard to deal with as they were.” Titus gave him a withering look and Cor chuckled his way out of the office, waving a lazy goodbye.

The Glaive met him in his uniform in the lobby, visibly sulking as they made their way to Cor’s car and began the long trek out of Insomnia. It would take them the entire day to reach the new imperial base in Cleigne, and Cor almost hoped the Glaive would sulk long enough that he wouldn’t need to worry about trying not to kill him.

But Cor wasn’t a lucky man.

The recruit was over his anger thirty minutes into the drive, and soon enough he was poking and prodding at Cor — sometimes literally — to learn everything he could about the legendary Immortal. Every time he used that idiotic nickname, Cor’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, and there was blissful silence after the fourth time that Cor almost, almost hoped would last.

He expected him to ask, expected him to push too far and laugh in the face of Cor’s discomfort, but he didn’t. He changed the subject, started asking about the King and Clarus and about Altissia, and what about the battles he’d been in before? Did Cor normally go on reconnaissance missions? Did he like doing sabotage missions?

Somewhere amidst the discussion, Cor felt a growing sense of respect for the boy. He wasn’t forthcoming about his own past, hesitant to dive into details if Cor asked him anything about his own life, but he didn’t hide from Cor like he expected him to. Everyone used his position as Marshal and connection to the king as an excuse to keep him at arm's length, but the Glaive didn’t seem to care.

The Glaive, Cor came to find out, was named Nyx Ulric, and had barely reached adulthood several months prior to their mission. He had joined the Glaive the instant he was allowed to, because to him it was a personal debt to the King of Lucis himself. Cor was a little surprised to hear that one, but Ulric didn’t seem inclined to share, and Cor was not one to press.

They reached the haven near the base in Cleigne and waited, resting and making sure their weapons and curatives were stocked. Before the last of the daylight could filter away, they checked the base’s weaponry and defenses before resigning themselves to wait for the early morning, when they could strike at advantage. Their conversation fell to the wayside as they waited, keeping watch on the base. Ulric was paying special attention to his blades, and every so often he threw one and warped to it, tutting at himself.

After the fourth time, Cor sighed. “What are you trying to do?”

Ulric blinked in surprise, his ears burning bright red, and he wouldn’t meet Cor’s gaze. “Every time I warp, there’s this brief moment where I feel like I’m getting stuck in… the Armiger, I guess? Whatever it is we pass through. I feel like I’m using more of my strength trying to get out of the warp than actually warping.” He frowned. “Sorry, that doesn’t make any sense. I’ll shut up now.”

“You’re right,” Cor said with a nod, “it doesn’t, not to me. I’m sure Regis would know what you’re talking about, though.” He paused, twisting a kukri in his hand, and Cor hummed thoughtfully. He didn’t know the first thing about warping, save that doing it too often in a short period of time left Regis strained and vulnerable. He did know about pulling things from the Armiger though, and if it was that strange void that Regis’ power took the Lucis Caelums and the Glaives through, then maybe he could offer some assistance.

“When you summon your blades,” he started, drawing Ulric’s gaze to his, “what do you think about?”

He squinted at the older male. “What do you mean? Usually I’m thinking about killing something.”

Cor rolled his eyes then. “About your blades. When you pull them from the Armiger, what are you expecting to happen?”

Nyx frowned. “For them to show up in my hands.”

“Right. So when you warp, what are you expecting to happen?” Nyx fell into a stunned silence and looked down at his weapons, frowning at them thoughtfully.

“I always just… expected to be there. But warping isn’t tied to me, is it?” He threw a weapon and warped toward it, catching it with ease, and then he laughed. “It’s tied to the weapon!” He threw it again, and Cor was up in an instant to catch him as he started to tilt and collapsed straight into Cor’s waiting arms. “My hero.”

“Don’t push yourself,” Cor growled. “We still have a job to do.”

“Aw, Cor. For a second I thought you cared about me.” Cor let the Glaive fall out of his arms and he let out a grunt as the air was knocked out of him. He pouted up at the older man, who just shook his head and turned away to hide his half-smile. The Glaive was as endearing as he was irritating.

At some point after the sun set and they shared a quick meal, Cor realized that Ulric was… humming. It wasn’t loud, but it was melodic, and Cor closed his eyes so he could listen intently, barely able to focus over the crackling of the fire.

When their two man siege against the base began, Cor was quick to learn why Regis had specifically assigned Cor to watch him in action.

_“He’s made his unwavering devotion to the Crown clear.”_

_“Isn’t that a good thing?” Cor asked, watching his King shift uncomfortably in his seat._

_“I’m worried that he’ll be too reckless. That he’ll think paying with his life will pay back a debt to me.”_

_“To die in battle is the most honorable death one could ask for.”_

_“You know better than most how much I despise the idea of good men and women falling in battle for me.”_

_“That’s their job.”_

_“But it shouldn’t be an inevitability. It doesn’t show more devotion than living a long and prosperous life, while still serving.” Regis sighed. “Just go, keep an eye on him. Try to make him see that recklessness won’t pay back a debt that doesn’t exist.”_

_“If he thinks that he owes you…”_

_“He doesn’t.” Regis’ voice was firm, commanding, every bit the leader he was supposed to be. “I didn’t save him so that he would give up his life for me.”_

Nyx Ulric was every bit as headstrong as Titus and Clarus had warned Cor he was. He didn’t bother listening to the plan that Cor attempted to craft, instead creating his own and carrying it out before Cor could attempt to gain his attention. He got too close, warped almost too late, didn’t check his blind spots. More than a couple times Cor had to swoop in and cut down someone taking aim at the young Glaive, and he just cackled in response and went about destroying their opposition.

Cor was locked blade-to-blade with the base commander when he heard Ulric shout. He didn’t look away, couldn’t as the base leader bore down on him, a wild look in the Niff’s eyes, and with a suddenness that becried a warp, Nyx was instantly against his back, and the sound he made seconds before his knees hit the floor told Cor exactly what had happened.

The base leader didn’t last long after that. He idiotically assumed that with Cor’s partner downed, the legendary Immortal would somehow be easier to deal with. When Ulric dropped to the floor and the look in Cor’s deep blue eyes turned murderous, the man’s knees locked and he fell to the floor in two pieces.

Cor made quick work of the scraps. He didn’t normally care if there were survivors, since usually they started to turn tail and run after their head was cut off, but each Imperial soldier was a personal affront to him as he took them down. What made it so easy to deal with them was the way they kept training their guns on the writhing Glaive, like putting a dying dog out of its misery.

Cor dropped his weapon back into the Armiger when the last Niff fell to his blade, stepping carefully over the dead as he made his way back to the Glaive. He was pale, had lost too much blood, and each breath he took was ragged. The older man checked for an exit wound and breathed a sound of relief when he found it, bleeding profusely but definitely there. He was quick to summon a hi-potion, and put the bottle to the Glaive’s lips, urging him to drink.

He only allowed himself to relax when Ulric finally managed to choke back the entirety of it, and they sat with the Glaive leaning against the Immortal. The sun started to rise by the time color returned to Ulric’s face, and he let out an irritated noise.

“Should have let me die.”

“Why on Eos would I do that?” The Glaive was silent and Cor let loose a deep sigh. “You got a death wish, Ulric?”

“No,” he snapped, struggling to his feet. Cor watched him rise with an unimpressed expression, and the younger almost snarled, turning and stalking out of the base. Cor simply stood and followed, falling into step with the other man. In his experience, silence worked best when people didn’t want to talk about their problems. Either they got fed up with whatever they were stewing about and started talking about it, or they didn’t talk about it and Cor didn’t have to deal with them.

He also knew from experience, albeit not very much, that Nyx Ulric was not one to let things go. This knowledge was confirmed when they plopped down onto the flat rock the haven sat on and he started talking, almost faster than Cor could follow.

“I survived because Regis was there to save me.” He was glaring up at the sky like the very heavens were at fault for this fact. “And for a long time I begged and pleaded for it to change. For Regis to have saved them. They deserved it. To be alive.” Cor frowned at the sentiment, but he kept quiet as the young Glaive continued. “I was just a nitwit, self-destructive teenager on a bender. Hellbent on ruining every good thing that came my way.”

“Regis wouldn’t have saved you if he thought you weren’t worth it.”

Ulric laughed sarcastically. “Yes he would have. Regis is too good.”

Okay, yes. In a way. Only on Tuesday’s.

Cor shook his head. “What I mean is, whatever you were before wasn’t unsalvageable. Regis saw the life you could live if you kept living, which is why he saved you.”

Ulric was silent for a long time, and Cor settled into watching the sunrise as he waited for the Glaive to continue. “Stop making sense.” It wasn’t what Cor was expecting him to say, and it brought a quiet chuckle from his lips. He paused for another long moment, before saying, “After a while, I resigned myself to the fact that there wasn’t any changing it. It’s not his fault, the King. He did what he could. I know. He only saved me because he was practically on top of me when I—“

Cor glanced over when he heard the words die in the Glaive’s throat, watched the glazed over expression on his face as he stared at the horizon. Temptation told him to reach out, but he didn’t think the other man would appreciate that. He was always respectful of Cor’s boundaries, so Cor would respect his.

He took a deep breath then. “I had to join. Not for Insomnia, not for Lucis. For Galahd, and for Regis. For… everything I left behind.” Cor didn’t bother asking him to expand. He understood the gist. “But I still see them. I still see all of it, when I close my eyes too long, when I try to sleep. It’s still there, it’ll always be there. But they’re not really there. And Six, if I could just be where they are.”

Cor finally spoke. “Throwing your life away during suicide missions isn’t how you get there.”

Ulric snorted. “What would the Immortal know about suicide missions?”

“A lot,” Cor snarled. The Glaive fell silent and Cor finally understood why Regis had tasked him with this. They were silent for a long time as Cor contemplated this fact, and then he rubbed a hand over his prickly hair and sighed. “Listen our pasts… don’t define who we are. We owe it to the future to be better than we were yesterday. Selfishly throwing away your life so you can see the people you’ve lost isn’t doing anyone any favors.” Ulric was boring a hole in the bedrock with his eyes, and Cor took another deep breath. “Do you really wanna face your demons knowing you didn’t try as hard as you could have?”

Another long silence fell between them, the sunlight beating down on them mercilessly. Cor watched the Glaive from the corner of his eye — he was nowhere near as predictable as the Marshal had expected him to be. After an impossibly long stretch of silence (Cor didn’t even think the Glaive could _be_ silent that long), Ulric said, “No, I don’t.”

“What are you gonna do about it then?”

* * *

_year thirteen_

* * *

 

Cor could only watch from his position outside the Citadel as the airship crashed into it, his heart racing. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to go there, to protect his King, but he knew what his orders were.

He nodded at Monica as she slammed the car door and sped off, Iris Amicitia screaming at Cor from the backseat. They’d been struggling with her most of the day, attempting to get her out of Insomnia before shit hit the fan. Clarus was adamant that none of his children see the hell that Insomnia would become if things happened how they expected it to. He would be getting an earful for this later from Clarus.

Cor drew his hand over his face and through his hair in a long-suffering motion and summoned his blade, watching his Crownsguard herding screaming civilians toward the bridge leading from Insomnia. He’d tried to hope, really he did, that things wouldn’t end up this way.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, but it did.

* * *

_year four_

* * *

 

Cor didn’t generally ‘take the night off.’ Normally there was paperwork to file, recruits to train, bastard royalty to wrangle.

When Nyx Ulric saunters into his office at a quarter to eight, he knows absolutely nothing is going to get done. He just sits back in his chair and sighs, waiting for the inevitable declaration that Nyx was getting him out of his Gods forsaken office whether he liked it or not. It was the fourth time in as many weeks that the Glaive had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and he never took no for an answer.

The energetic Glaive grinned at the resigned look on Cor’s face and perched on the desk in front of him. “Ready to get out of here, Leonis?”

“If I say no, will you leave me alone?”

“You know I won’t.”

Cor heaved a long suffering sigh and drew himself to his feet, gesturing for the Glaive to lead the way. Nyx grinned triumphantly, waving to Monica as they exited the office, and she sent a knowing smirk Cor’s way without saying anything. He just rolled his eyes at her expectant look and followed Nyx from the Citadel, waiting for the torturous moment the Glaive started another mind numbing ramble about wherever it was he was taking Cor this time, but he didn’t.

Instead he talked about stupid, small things, like getting out of bed even though he didn’t want to and realizing he had the absolute worst bed head of his life, and he still couldn’t get his braid to lay flat properly. And about how Luche had managed to bring up his first warp attempt, again, and Nyx reacquainted Luche with his fist, again. And how even though Titus reprimanded him, they laughed about it, as quietly as they could, because Luche was an idiot and a prick and he deserved it.

Nyx led him to a bar in Little Galahd, and Cor politely kept his eyes on his companion, because Galahdians did not take kindly to stares, even from the Marshal. When Nyx almost _timidly_ approached three others in casual Glaive attire, Cor finally started to suspect that something was amiss.

“Finally,” the woman among them said. “I was beginning to think he made him up.”

“Shut the fuck up, Crowe,” Nyx muttered, shooting her a glare. She cackled in response, and Cor decided right then, irrevocably, that he liked her.

“You’re seeing — you’ve been with Cor _the Immortal?”_ one of the other men asked. Nyx gave an exasperated groan and rubbed his hand over his face.

“Be cool guys,” the third said. “Wouldn’t want to embarrass lil’ ol’ Nyxie.”

“Cor this is CrowePelnaLibertus we’re leaving bye,” Nyx said in a rush, starting to push Cor away from the table. All three of them started to protest and Cor easily stepped around the Glaive and plopped into the nearest chair, raising an eyebrow at Nyx’s betrayed expression. The Glaives sitting at the table cheered, and one of the men called for more drinks.

“Cor _Leonis,”_ the Marshal emphasized as he introduced himself.

“Nice to formally meet you Leonis,” the woman said with a sharp grin. “I’m Crowe. The big shithead over there is Libertus,” Libertus complained and she cackled, “and to my left is Pelna.” He nodded respectfully, sending a shit-eating grin in Nyx’s direction. The Glaive had given up his hurt expression and was now sitting next to Cor, sulking as he glared at the table. “We’re the closest thing the smaller shithead has to friends.”

“Oh no,” Nyx said, turning his glare on her. “We are definitely not friends after this.”

“Why not?” Cor asked. Nyx’s face flushed bright red and he immediately took the shot that was placed before him by the server as his friends started to laugh. Cor just smiled and took his own shot, letting himself slouch in his seat a little bit as he watched the four of them interact. It definitely brought him back to memories of Regis, Clarus, Cid and Weskham, and it settled the same amount of uncomfortable nostalgia in his chest as it did a strange sensation of warmth.

Nyx was three more shots in when Pelna suggested it would be a good time for him to go home, since as the new captain it was Nyx’s job to run training on Saturday mornings. Crowe suggested Cor take him home, which earned her daggers from a slightly intoxicated Nyx.

“Can get home by my fucking self since all of you think you’re so funny,” he muttered, stumbling out of his chair. Cor was up in an instant to catch him before he fell, something of an instinct he’d developed, and the Glaives still seated at the table started to clap. “Fuck off!” Nyx half-shouted, earning more raucous laughter.

Cor just dragged him from the bar, letting him grumble and complain as he offered unhelpful directions on how to get to his apartment from where they were. The Marshal figured Nyx must have been mostly sober by the time they reached his apartment building, but the way he stumbled up the steps worried the older man, so he followed him up the shoddy staircase, and when the Glaive fumbled with his keys Cor sighed and took them, unlocking his door and holding the keys back out for him to take.

There was a long pause where Nyx didn’t take them. Cor was about to jangle them in his face when the Glaive pushed his arm out of the way and was in his space in an instant, their lips crashing together in an unsteady motion that had Cor teetering both metaphorically and literally. He braced an arm against the door frame, his other wrapping around Nyx’s waist as he only kind of attempted to sort out what was going on.

Alarms were blaring in his head, but what worried him more was that he was ignoring them in favor of exploring the way Nyx’s lips molded against his, the way his tongue flicked tentatively along the lines of Cor’s mouth. Cor, fuck he shouldn’t have taken that shot, Cor parted his lips to meet him, their tongues molding around each other as Nyx’s hands settled on his waist and then he started pulling his shirt _up_ —

Cor pushed Nyx into his apartment and was quick to close the door between them, struggling to take in a deep enough breath, his heart racing as he rest his head against his arm. A few moments passed before the door to the apartment opened and their eyes met. Nyx’s gaze was an electric blue storm of lust and confusion and anger, and Cor felt rooted in place.

“Come inside.” It was more of a command than a suggestion, and Cor contemplated disobeying, thought about turning and walking away right now — and maybe that would have been for the best — but his body was not following the same thought process as his brain because suddenly he was inside Nyx’s terribly small apartment, looking at Nyx as the younger man stared him down, arms crossed over his chest defensively.

“Pelna said you were seeing me.” It clicked suddenly, why the three of them seemed so eager to meet him. Most people were intimidated by his titles, but none of them even seemed to register who he was outside of that bar. Warmth and unease blossomed in his chest.

“I told them it wasn’t serious,” Nyx said, his ears flaming as he turned his head to glare at the wall. “That I hadn’t even… talked to you about it yet. They still wanted to know, though. Crowe would have marched right into your office if I didn’t…”

“The alcohol wore off,” Cor said. “You pretended to trip to get me to come upstairs.”

His flush spread down over his neck. “Okay, yeah.”

“The last three times we went out — dates?”

Nyx ran his hand through his hair. “I, um. I tried to make it obvious.” Silence fell between them and Nyx rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I-I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, can we just — can I take it back?”

“Nyx.” The use of his name had the effect Cor expected it to as the Glaive fell silent, staring at him with wide eyes. He closed the distance between them, holding the younger man’s gaze without breaking away, and lifted his hands to his neck, using the pressure to guide him into a kiss that was much gentler and more purposeful than the last one had been.

Nyx sank into him like water, allowing Cor to take charge for the first time since he had known him. Four long years had passed, and the Marshal never once saw him give in to anyone of authority — except the King, of course — and right now the way he pressed into the older man told him he was giving himself over, completely and wholly.

The knowledge gave Cor a heady feeling, and the way Nyx’s fingers found purchase on his arms made something uncomfortably warm settle in his chest, and he pressed their bodies together as if Nyx’s chest against his would somehow transfer the feeling from the Marshal to the Glaive. It served the exact opposite of its purpose, though, as Cor was made very aware just how Nyx’s body felt about the motion.

“I’m sorry, I—“ Cor refused to let him finish his apology. If anything, he should be the one apologizing. He was Cor the Immortal, after all, and there was really only one path that this relationship could take. He couldn’t bring himself to stop, though. Nyx knew better than anyone what Cor saw in his own future. If they were going down this rabbit hole, then he wouldn’t worry about the consequences. Not for this. Not for Nyx.

The sound Nyx made as he gasped into Cor’s mouth when the Marshal pinned him against the wall a little harsher than he meant to set Cor’s skin on fire. Nyx’s entire body slot against his, every hard line lining up perfectly against Cor, his grip on Cor’s arm strengthening as their kiss grew in intensity. One of the Marshal’s hands dropped to his waist in an attempt to pull the Glaive closer, although there was nowhere else for him to go.

Cor used the hand still positioned on Nyx’s neck to tilt his head back, kissing and biting down his neck as the other man started pushing off the jacket he still wore. The rest of Cor’s top layers were quick to follow. Nyx’s fingers traced over every scar available to his reach, and each drag of touch was pushing Cor toward a ledge, one that he knew once they were over, there was no clawing their way back.

With great effort, he pulled his mouth away from Nyx, almost growling when the man tried to follow the kiss.

“You have fangs,” Nyx said breathlessly. “I’ve known you for four years, how did I not know you have fangs?”

Cor didn’t bother to comment on the fact. “Nyx,” he mumbled, trying to focus around his haze of lust. “If we do this…”

“If?”

Cor rolled his eyes. “You know I know that you don’t do things… lightly. If we do this… if something happens to you, or me —”

“King first, people second,” Nyx said without hesitating. Cor blinked at him in shock and something in Nyx’s hard expression crumbled. “I’ve been thinking about this for a really long time, Cor.”

Gods help him, Cor believed the Glaive. He wondered idly just how long Nyx was actually thinking about this — about a relationship forming between them, about having to choose between his loyalty to the King and the people and Cor, if the decision came to it. As their lips crashed together once again in a rush of heat and need, Cor wondered when the line he’d drawn between them had become so blurred.

The rest of their clothes were discarded in a rush, piled up on the floor to deal with later as their kissing and rutting made its way to the cramped bed in the corner of the room. Nyx was quick to procure lube and a condom from his bedside table before Cor’s lips came crashing back to his, a delicious friction on both of their cocks as they were trapped between them.

Nyx reached up, running his hand through the top of Cor’s hair, careful not to approach the back despite Cor not having any braids of his own. He was conscious of the thought behind the effort, even if he didn’t quite understand it, and with every touch he kept his fingers clear of the hair on Nyx’s nape.

He used the lube to wet his fingers, pulling away just enough to watch Nyx’s expression morph from need to surprise to awe to pleasure as Cor began to insert his index finger into the ring of muscle under the Glaive’s perineum. This was his favorite part, the feeling of intimacy that preparing one’s partner gave.

Nyx’s nails dug into his skin at random as Cor worked to open him up, slow at first. When Nyx started to grow impatient at Cor’s almost teasing attention, he planted his feet on the bed and lifted his hips, almost growling when Cor dropped a hand to his abdomen and pressed him back down against the bed.

“Be good,” Cor said, voice thick with lust, and that was all it took for the fight to leave the Glaive, and he screwed his eyes shut tight and _whined_ when Cor continued with the single finger. Taking pity on the other man, Cor added a second, watching his expression change from frustration to a wince of pain and then to pure desperation.

“Cor,” Nyx gasped. “Cor, _please.”_

He didn’t waste time in teasing him then. He scissored his fingers for a short time before adding a third, and he took care to find Nyx’s prostate and run his fingers along the sensitive muscle a few times just to hear him gasp. While he worked his fingers inside the other man, he used his other hand to apply lube on his own cock, and then he pulled his hand free and replaced it with the tip of his hardened length.

Nyx’s whine was replaced with a groan as Cor started pressing into his tight heat, and his eyes screwed shut and his head tilted back. The Marshal took the chance to lean over and drag his fangs over the tender exposed flesh, dragging a low moan out of the throat he was teasing. Nyx tried to lift his hips, attempting to push Cor’s cock further into him, and the older grabbed his hips and pinned them in place, pushing into the hilt at a steady pace.

“Fuck,” Nyx gasped when he stopped, his fingernails digging into the skin of Cor’s shoulders as the Marshal continued lavishing his attention along his neck and chest. _“Fuck,_ I knew you were packing Cor but—” His words died in his throat when Cor rolled his hips.

“You talk too much,” Cor growled in his ear before leaning back. Nyx managed a short laugh which turned into a sob of pleasure when Cor picked up a punishing rhythm. “If you’re still talking, I’m obviously not doing my job right.” Nyx was actually wordless then, at times soundless as Cor found his prostate again and made every effort to slam into it with every thrust. His legs tightened around the Marshal’s waist, and Cor had to lift one above his shoulder to maintain the room he needed to fuck into the Glaive.

Nyx whimpered and Cor felt his walls tighten around his own cock, his vision starting to turn white as Nyx started to pleasure himself. His breathing was labored, but he kept up his rhythm, watching as Nyx fisted himself and his eyes screwed up tight again and his mouth fell open in a soundless yell. His climax spilled out over his hand and stomach and his walls tightened almost too much around Cor, whose hips stuttered and stilled as he reached his own orgasm.

The room was silent save for the sound of their labored breathing, and they seemed to decide at the same time to pull away from each other. Cor walked into the bathroom, tossed Nyx a washcloth and cleaned up the aftermath of his orgasm, and he walked out of the bathroom to hear the washer running and Nyx wearing his tank top.

He lifted an eyebrow and Nyx shrugged nonchalantly, collapsing back on his bed and scooting over to leave a very obvious gap. Cor debated with himself if he really wanted to commit to this — if he was willing to put Nyx in that kind of situation, and then he reminded himself that Nyx was an adult who could make his own decisions, and he’d decided on this path long before Cor had even become aware of it.

He climbed into the bed and didn’t complain when Nyx curled around him.

* * *

_year thirteen_

* * *

Cor knew when his blade appeared in his hand without him summoning it that worst had come to worst. His heart swelled uncomfortably in his chest, and he hadn’t cried since Mors died, but he allowed himself to shed a few tears as he turned and hollered for the Crownsguard to get a move on.

They were supposed to protect the people, and as Cor watched the city continue to fall into chaos and destruction, he felt like he was falling short of his assigned task. They’d been moving people quietly toward the bridge leading out of the city, but now they were driving people in droves. There were no pretenses now; Insomnia was under siege.

As he turned once more toward the Citadel, he watched the last remnants of the Crystal’s wall fade, and he knew.

Insomnia had fallen.

* * *

_year eight_

* * *

Cor felt like shit.

He’d reached the bottom of a bottle for the fourth time in as many weeks, and even Regis had deigned to approach him and tell him he needed to lay off the benders.

“Whatever happened between you and Nyx, settle it,” Regis said. Cor was half dazed and loopy and he settled Regis with a glare.

“Stay out of it.” The King sighed. “You’re not… you’re not even supposed to know.”

“I’m no idiot, Cor,” Regis said. “You’re one of my oldest friends. Of course I’m going to keep tabs on your relationship.”

“Shut up,” Cor snapped. “My personal life is none of your business.”

Regis stood from his seat in front of Cor’s desk, putting his weight onto the cane he’d started using recently. He drew himself to his full height and gave Cor a very kingly frown.

“No matter what happened between you, you cannot continue to allow it to affect your work. As your King, I must insist that you get your act together. Either work through your problems, or accept that your relationship has ended and move on.”

Cor got to his feet abruptly, anger rushing through him, but he had to grip the corner of his desk as his vision swam and the alcohol hit him full force. He put his hand to his head and Regis heaved a heavy sigh, shaking his head at his longtime friend.

“I don’t want to be this person, Cor, but you’re starting to force my hand.”

“Just go,” Cor said with a snarl. Regis gave him an exasperated look and left the office, closing the door behind him. Cor fell back into his chair, glaring at the bottle sitting on the desk in front of him like it was the damn bottle’s fault he was sitting in his office, drunk and alone.

He had no idea how much time passed before the door to his office opened and he closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable fallout from Monica finding him wasted at his desk again. She didn’t say anything, though, simply hoisted him from his spot with his arm around her neck and almost dragged him from the office.

“Lucky no one’s here this late,” he heard her say. “Be safe.” He didn’t answer, just let her drag him along. Opening his eyes was more effort than it was worth, so he didn’t, vaguely registering the sound his car made as it was unlocked. This piqued his curiosity — Monica always drove him home in her car so he could deal with the shame of having left his at the Citadel when he woke up with a raging hangover the next morning. He didn’t question it, though; he hated walking to work in the mornings, especially this late in the year.

He practically folded in half when she helped him into the passenger seat of his car, letting out a low groan as he attempted to settle into the seat. Monica fought to get his seatbelt on, and she slammed the car door on him after she finally got it. He winced and grumbled when she got in the car, but she remained wordless throughout the drive.

Time seemed to distort itself, because shortly after he heard the rumbling of his garage door, his heart sinking in his chest. He didn’t bother opening his eyes as the door he’d been leaning on opened and Monica helped him from the car and led him inside.

“Don’t leave me here,” he mumbled into Monica’s shoulder. “It’s so empty without him. Please, Mon, don’t leave me here.” Six, he was pitiful. Begging his second-in-command to save him from the depressing routine of waking up alone in his king-sized bed, in a house he only purchased because there had been tentative talk about maybe, someday, when they were ready, maybe there would be kids. At the very least a dog.

Monica just helped him shuffle upstairs to his empty bedroom, deaf to his pleas even as they grew more insistent.

He turned into deadweight as they approached his door, all of his sense leaving him in that instant. “Please, Mon, don’t. Take me to him. I need to apologize, I need to try to explain that I — I didn’t… I don’t have a good reason. I don’t have any reason. I knew, I knew what it meant to him. I knew and I didn’t go and I deserve this.”

Monica dragged him into the room and dropped him unceremoniously in his bed, and he opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling as she stopped at the end of the bed and pulled off his boots. She didn’t normally do that either, but he wiggled his toes gratefully. She even pulled off his socks, and he sighed in relief and let his eyes close. He hated sleeping with socks on, almost as much as he hated sleeping alone.

“I just wanna fix this, Mon,” he said, voice barely above a whisper as she moved about the room, picking up the mess he’d left behind in the week that had passed since the last time she’d taken him home. “I need to fix this and instead I turn into this mess. I’m so useless. He deserves better than me.”

The silence was deafening to him, and he felt himself drifting toward sleep. Something warm settled next to him and he wrapped himself around it, the distinct smell of spice and sandalwood meeting his nose. He must’ve buried his face in Nyx’s pillow again.

~

The sun was starting to peek into his room through the slats of his window when Cor woke, suddenly aware that there was definitely someone in bed with him. His head instantly began to pound, and he groaned at the pain.

“Mon?” He pried his eyes open and looked at the person wrapped around him and his heart stopped when he found Nyx nestled in his arms. In his sleep, he looked as young and soft as the first time Cor ever met him, and his heart sank in his chest knowing that the stressed and worn look Nyx had been sporting for the last four weeks was his fault.

But why was he here? Did he… forget?

As much as he hated to do it, he reached up to place his hand on Nyx’s face and gently ran his thumb over his cheekbone in a weak attempt to wake him. He so desperately wanted to kiss him awake like Nyx had done for him so many times before, but this was different. There was an invisible line Cor was terrified of crossing, lest he lose Nyx for good.

Nyx was a light sleeper, of course, so the touch was enough to wake him. Soft blue eyes blinked open and stared at Cor’s chest, and Cor held his breath, waiting for Nyx to rip away from him.

When he didn’t, Cor gently asked, “What’re you doing here, Nyx? Did Mon call you?”

Nyx blinked and his eyebrows knit together. “Cor, do you not remember last night at all?”

Cor blinked back, feeling his ears burning. He remembered his breakdown with Monica vividly; did she call Nyx after his pitiful lamenting of their failed relationship? “...Why? What happened?”

Nyx sighed, dropping his gaze to Cor’s chest again. “I brought you home last night, Cor. Regis told me you were shitfaced and screaming at anyone who got to close to you and I figured if you were gonna hit anyone, it might as well be me.”

Cor made a sound of horror. “Did I hit you, Nyx? I didn’t —“

“No,” Nyx said gently. “You didn’t hit me, Cor. I got you home just fine.” Relief was quickly replaced by horror when he realized his meltdown in the hallway was not to Monica, but Nyx. He groaned and buried his face in Nyx’s thick hair, breathing in the distinct smell of spice and sandalwood. Nyx let out a short, soft laugh, and then they settled into the only uncomfortable silence Cor had ever experienced in the entirety of knowing the Glaive.

They said each other’s name at the same time and fell silent again, and then Nyx nudged him to go first. He took a deep breath and said, “You heard me last night. I didn’t have an excuse for not going. I was in panic mode. We just bought a house, we started talking about kids and a future and I… never thought that would be my life. I couldn’t face it, couldn’t face you or your family when I was terrified of the life we were creating.”

He fell silent and waited for Nyx to say something, and the sun had completely settled on their faces by the time he started speaking. “It didn’t matter that it was my birthday,” he said, voice soft. “It’s fine, I’ve never given two shits about my birthday. But it was the first time I was able to go back to Galahd for the celebramus. My mom and my sister…” His voice broke and he closed his eyes and Cor fought every urge he had to kiss the man, his chest aching intensely. “I get it, it’s a stupid tradition to Lucians, but it’s important for me, Cor.”

“It’s not stupid,” Cor was quick to say. “I don’t think it’s stupid. It’s important to you, so whatever’s important to you is important to me.”

“But you didn’t go,” Nyx said quietly. “It was the last day and I waited for you at the gate for an hour. Libertus almost left me behind.”

“I can’t take it back,” Cor said, voice thick with pain. “I’m so sorry, Nyx. I was terrified in the face of what this has become.”

“What has it become, Cor? When you leave me waiting for you, just to find out from Clarus that you’ve volunteered to follow the King and his son to Galdin, on a day that I had been begging you for months to be with me?”

“I know,” Cor whispered, closing his eyes. It was difficult to form words while looking at the pained expression on Nyx’s face. “Our relationship has been so slow to gain traction because one of us is almost always gone. Recently it’s… just nonstop. We bought a house.” Cor gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “I’ve lived in the same apartment since I was thirteen, Nyx.” Nyx’s hand came to rest on his own, where it still sat on the Glaive’s cheek. He opened his eyes to look into azure blue and took a deep breath. “I panicked. It was terrible, and I hate myself for it. I’ll do anything I can to make this up, somehow. Just tell me what to do, _please.”_

His voice broke as he said, “I can’t survive without you.”

* * *

_year thirteen_

* * *

 

Cor was searching for stragglers and survivors with some of the more experienced Crownsguard members when the Old Wall came to life.

For a minute hope surged through him, and he watched in awe as the statues of the Old Kings came to life and started to attack the giant monster that the Empire dropped in the middle of Insomnia, but even as hope flared in his chest his mind quickly stamped it out. Regis told the Council in no uncertain terms that he didn’t have the strength to command the Old Wall.

As he watched, someone crystallized on the shoulder of one of the statues. He felt another fleeting moment of hope as the obvious glow of warping left a pattern of light across the sky, until he watched a weapon flutter and crash next to his foot.

A kukri, battered and beaten, etched with a familiar Galahdian blessing.

His own weapon being returned to his hand. The Old Wall.

His heart stopped in his chest and he was already running further into the city when the kukri disappeared in another flash of crystallized light. He yelled at his Crownsguard to get out of the city and launched himself forward without another thought.

* * *

_year twelve_

* * *

 

“You’re an idiot.”

It was growled and gruff and Cor glared at Nyx as he walked into the hospital room, arms crossed over his chest. His heart was still thumping in his chest, and his glare only grew in intensity when Nyx shot him a carefree, shit-eating grin.

“Aw, Cor. I missed you too.”

“You almost died,” Cor growled. Nyx waved his hand flippantly and Cor was filled with the urge to strangle him. “Don’t brush this off, Nyx, _you almost died.”_

“Yeah but it would’ve been a really cool story. Ramuh would have walked up and asked me what happened. ‘Oh, you know. Just stabbed through the chest by a Treant saving a recruit from certain death.’” His expression fell when Cor actually snarled at him and he sighed softly. “Cor, it’s fine. I’m alive.”

“But you almost weren’t,” Cor said. His anger faded and he walked over to Nyx, sitting on the bed and pressing their foreheads together. Nyx’s eyes closed, and he let out a quiet noise of pain when the bed shifted under Cor’s weight. Cor frowned at the noise and sighed. “The minute Libertus called and told me—“

“I’m sure you felt like you were sitting on your hands,” Nyx said, brushing his shaking hand over Cor’s. The Marshal was distinctly aware of the IV drip sticking out of his hand, and frowned at the bag hanging above Nyx’s bed. “I wasn’t just going to let him die Cor.” He opened his mouth to protest and Nyx cut him off. “Don’t even tell me I should have let him, because you wouldn’t have either.”

“Don’t throw what I would and wouldn’t do into this,” Cor grumbled. “I’m Immortal. You’re not.”

“Convenient excuse when it’s me in this bed and not you.” Cor shot him another glare and he chuckled. “Okay, okay. I’ll try my hardest not to have anymore near-death encounters.” When the Marshal raised an eyebrow at him he shrugged innocently. “Sometimes it’s unavoidable. You know that.”

“I do,” Cor said, voice soft. Silence fell between them and Nyx’s eyes fluttered closed, his breathing slightly labored. Cor watched the Glaive for some time, his thoughts racing, and found himself blurting out a thought he’d been stewing on from the moment he heard Nyx had been injured so terribly. “Marry me.”

Nyx’s eyes snapped open and he stared at Cor in shock. “This is the drugs, right? I’m hallucinating that you just asked me that.”

“Marry me. A true Galahdian wedding,” Cor said, when Nyx’s mouth fell open in a question he didn’t get the chance to ask. “I’ve talked to Libertus and Pelna about it. I want to do it.”

Nyx blinked slowly, then lowered his gaze to his hand, a blush settling over his cheeks. “We can talk about it when I’m not hopped up on painkillers.”

“You can talk about it, if you want to,” Cor said, maneuvering so that Nyx was forced to look him in the eye again. “I’ve already made up my mind. I’m going to marry you, Nyx.” The bright red flush spread to Nyx’s neck and Cor chuckled.

“Aren’t you supposed to get down on one knee or something?” Nyx asked, tone half-joking. “You’re just sitting on the bed.” Cor stood and dropped to one knee in one swift movement and Nyx squeaked. “Don’t, please don’t, Cor get up—“

“Marry me,” Cor deadpanned. “I’m not really giving you a choice, but marry me.”

“I hate you,” Nyx whispered as a passing nurse caught sight of Cor’s terrible proposal and squealed in excitement. Cor smirked at that and stood, pressing a kiss to Nyx’s lips carefully as four more nurses started to crowd around outside his door.

~

Cor hadn’t been back to Cleigne in four years, and seeing the landscape brought back a flood of memories as he parked and gathered their camping gear to head out to the haven near the abandoned imperial base. As far as Cor knew, it hadn’t been touched since he and Nyx had first arrived there so long ago.

“You’re really sure about this?” Nyx asked for the seventeenth time since leaving Insomnia.

Cor resisted the urge to roll his eyes, voice gentle as he said, “I’m absolutely positive, Nyx.”

“There’s no going back from here,” Nyx reminded him as he helped Cor set up camp. Cor gave him an exasperatedly fond look and paused in setting up camp to pull him close by his hips. Nyx let out a surprised grunt, finding difficulty in looking up at his lover. Cor was insistent, however, and grabbed his chin to make him look up at the Marshal.

“I wouldn’t go back if Bahamut himself told me it’s the only way to bring back the light,” Cor said, settling a deep blush over Nyx’s cheeks and nose.

“That’s selfish,” Nyx grumbled as Cor brushed their lips together. “I thought we decided a long time ago it was the future of Lucis first, each other second?”

“Right now, Nyx Ulric, you are my future.”

“Oh Gods,” Nyx said, covering his face with his hands. “Please stop being so corny.” Cor laughed and he groaned. “I did it. I played myself.”

“Cor-ny,” Cor repeated, snickering as Nyx disentangled himself and ducked into the tent. He finished setting up camp, and then he entered the tent, finding Nyx sitting cross-legged amidst their blankets, staring down at a picture of his mother and sister.

He sat beside him slowly, providing the Glaive with a shoulder to lean on, which Nyx immediately took advantage of. They were silent for a long time before Nyx finally spoke. “She would have loved you.” He gave a watery laugh. “Selena hated everyone I even thought about dating. ‘Find someone who worships the ground you walk on,’ she used to say. ‘Someone who’ll actually be able to handle your attitude and still smile at you at the end of the day.’”

Cor wrapped an arm loosely around his lover’s waist, pulling him closer. “Sounds like she knew what she was talking about. You’re quite the handful.” Nyx punched his ribs half-heartedly and he chuckled softly, pressing his lips to Nyx’s forehead.

Nyx carefully tucked the picture away amongst his things and rubbed his face. “Come on. We’ve only got an hour or so of light left.”

They exited the tent and got to work, taking the tools that Crowe and Pelna had blessed with the traditional marriage rites. He’d been skeptical, when Libertus first explained the rites. It didn’t quite make sense to him, but now, as he used the blessed blade to carve his name into the blade of Nyx’s kukri, he understood.

When he had first asked Libertus about Galahdian marriages, it was because Clarus had sincerely asked Nyx over dinner when the paperwork for his marriage certificate with Cor would come through. Nyx told Clarus to eat it, because the only marriage the Glaive would ever have would be a Galahdian one, and Cor wondered all throughout dinner and the rest of the night what the difference was.

Libertus laughed when he asked, but the laughter died in his throat when he realized how serious Cor was about the question. He’d told Cor repeatedly that once started, there was no stopping it. It was a ritual as much as a rite, and it demanded to be paid one way or another. Once the blade carving started, there was no going back.

‘Blade carving’ had confused Cor. When he asked Libertus to explain, he only laughed and clapped Cor on the back.

_“We don’t have euphemisms in Galahd, Marshal. It means exactly what it sounds like. You take a smaller blade designed specifically for carving your name, and you carve it into a weapon that your partner will always have. You bleed on the freshly carved name, and seal the deal by going on a hunt together. If one of you decides you’d rather not, say you decide to back out after you’ve carved your name on his blade… he has to use that blade to kill you.”_

_“Barbaric, isn’t it?” Cor said with a wince._

_Libertus gave him a long look. “Marriage is serious business in Galahd, Marshal. If you can’t commit to someone with whom you started something so important, who’s to say you won’t fail to commit to anyone or anything else?”_

_Cor understood at least a little bit the logic behind the idea. Galahdians were a stricter bunch than he gave them credit for. He nodded slowly. “Okay. I get that, I think.”_

_“You hunt the strongest thing near the place you first met,” Libertus said. “But you can’t pussyfoot it. If the strongest thing near there’s a rabbit, you have to go further. It’s a test of the gods, forging a link like this. They want big sacrifices in their names, not weak ones.” Cor nodded. That he definitely understood. “After you kill it, if both of you survived, then your bond is forged. Only death can break it. If either of you fall in battle, then you die with your lover’s essence by your side.”_

_Cor asked the question that had been bothering him since Libertus began his explanation. “How do we carve a name in a blade that’s already been forged?”_

_“In Galahd, there were tools passed down from leader to leader of each city, town, village, blessed by the gods themselves for that purpose. I don’t think any were salvaged after the fall, but many people have been studying the possible spellwork involved. If we get Crowe and Pelna involved, they could probably figure it out.”_

_“Then I need to find Crowe and Pelna.”_

_“You’re really sure about this?” Libertus asked, stopping him with a hand on his arm. Cor met his gaze and nodded, expression dead serious._

_“More than anything.”_

It turned out that writing “Cor Leonis” on Nyx’s blade wasn’t sufficient, either. No, Cor was required to find the correct sequence of Galahdian symbols that represented who he was, symbols that true Galahdians discovered by their early twenties at the latest.

The man was forty-four years old and hadn’t the slightest clue what normal words described him, let alone Galahdian symbols.

He’d agonized over it with Pelna and Libertus, even going so far as to ask Clarus if any of their Galahdian representatives might be able to assist him. Over time, they’d come to a consensus, and by the time Cor walked into that hospital room and decided that they were definitely getting married, he knew exactly who he would have been in Galahd.

The sun began to set as Nyx and Cor finished carving into the other’s blades, and with the last of the light they sliced into their own hands. They soaked their carvings with their own blood, and Cor watched in fascination as the blood seemed to settle right into the carving like a vial.

He only looked away from Nyx’s kukri when the Glaive lifted a potion to his lips, and he realized he was still bleeding and drank it gratefully. His hand seared with the pain of his flesh suddenly knitting itself back together, but he ignored it as Nyx handed him his blade back, taking his kukri from Cor’s grasp.

Cor ran his hands over the symbols now etched permanently into his blade in awe, heart pounding in his chest. This was it. One more battle together, and they were bonded for life, for better or worse.

Over and over, everyone he talked to tried to drill into him how absolutely permanent Galahdian marriage rites were. Once started, they couldn’t stop like a Lucian wedding. Even the representatives tried to dissuade him from his chosen course; he was important, after all, and many things could go wrong during a Galahdian marriage ritual.

Now, as he set out with Nyx by his side to find the nastiest daemon nearby, he couldn’t be more sure that he’d chosen the right path.

* * *

_year thirteen_

* * *

 

Blood rushing through his ears and the sound of his feet running across the streets of Insomnia are the only things Cor can hear as he raced toward where he last saw the warping figure. He knows, even without being able to see him, that the one dancing across the sky with Glauca is Nyx. It’s always Nyx, throwing himself headlong into danger.

Cor reaches the last place he’d seen them fall to just as dawn is beginning to change the color of the sky to a soft, golden color. He stumbles over the piles of debris, catches sight of a lifeless form that his brain only half-registers as the body of Titus Drautos —

He does a double take. That’s clearly Titus’ face, but he was decked out in Glauca’s armor. He almost went to investigate when he heard something fall and looked up to find Nyx, propped up on one arm with his other draped over his knee, staring absently at the coming sunrise.

“Nyx,” he managed in a breathless voice. Nyx’s face turned to the sound of him, and when his eyes finally focused on Cor, they looked empty. Lifeless.

“I’m sorry Cor,” the Glaive said as Cor started to rush over to him, realizing that his lover was badly burnt. He stuck out his hand to summon a potion, but nothing happened. “Clarus, Regis. There wasn’t anything I could do to save them.” He turned his gaze back to the rising sun. “Lunafreya has the ring. You have to make sure the Prince gets it.”

“Stop,” Cor begged, falling to his knees next to Nyx. “Stop, you’re gonna be there to tell them yourself.”

He reached out, fingers brushing over charred skin carefully, and the sun rose and Nyx crumbled, literally, in his hands.

Anger, fear, pain coursed through him as tears jumped to his eyes, unwelcomed. He scrubbed uselessly at his face and let out a soundless scream, arms curling in on himself as he struggled to find air, to feel something besides the absolute agony of everything he ever loved, slipping away from him yet again.

The blade.

He focused around the tears and looked around, stumbling to his feet. He picked up the Insomnian made kukri from where it sat next to what was left of his lover, heart thundering in his ears as he struggled to find the Galahdian one. The one that was Nyx’s piece of his soul, no matter where Nyx went.

His eyes skirted over the lifeless body lying not that much further away and his heart stopped as he focused on the blade sticking out of his chest. He stumbled forward, breath catching in his throat as he landed on his knees next to Titus’ lifeless form, his hand closing tight around the hilt of the kukri protruding out of him.

Anger, fear, pain, betrayal.

He lifted the blade and stabbed it back down, four times, crying out in his pain as he fought to come to terms with the truth. Regis, Clarus, Nyx… all gone, and Titus, his long time friend and confidant, the catalyst.

Cor’s curse was his blessing. He was Immortal, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> For reference, the [Galahdian Symbols](https://nyxaeternum.tumblr.com/post/183474134775/a-reference-post-for-an-upcoming-fic-im-posting) Cor (left) and Nyx (right) carved into each other's blades.


End file.
